


and eternity comes to an end

by Falmarien



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-16 14:38:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12344658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falmarien/pseuds/Falmarien
Summary: A little bit of the beginning, the end, and the in between.





	and eternity comes to an end

**Author's Note:**

> so, i found this on my google drive. fragmented. very VERY fragmented. as usual, thanks to cavale for cheerleading <3

People were… strange. Not in a bad way, though, just new.

With the exception of the initial crowd, most people didn’t approach her at first; those who did, did it tentatively, and they were mostly the stronger, able ones.

Then, more and more joined in.

Back on Themyscira, everyone fought. Not all as good, of course, but even her tutor knew how to handle a sword if needed. So it was strange to see the people here, to see the frail, the old, the wounded; and there were the children, small and pale, so young and already weary.

She became acutely aware of how tall and how strong she was, standing amongst this tiny crowd, and how colourful, where everything was in various shades of grey. Suddenly she wasn’t quite sure where to put her sword, where to put her shield. She felt out of place, but it was such a _good_ feeling—she had set out to fight for people who couldn’t fight for themselves, and she’d done it.

Looking around, she could see each of their miscellaneous squad, none visibly injured. Steve disappeared for a while and came back with the coat in his hands, forgotten on the other side of No Man’s Land. She didn’t put the grey suit back on; he didn’t say anything. Then he’d stayed close, within sight but peripherally, like what he did back on that barren field, like mere minutes before on this exact square. 

Diana shook every offered hand and held every child thrust into her arms; even though she understood the language, the hard consonants rolling off her tongue without much difficulty, but from time to time the meaning would escape her—and she’d smile and smile, and Steve would be there, armed with his mediocre-at-best command of Flemish and far superior understanding of all kinds of baffling human social practices. They’d piece it out together, or they’d try, and it had been enough.

 

...

 

In the cafe, they sat by the window. The glass was gone, the evening cooling fast, and she wasn’t cold, but she realised she was holding the fabric of her coat between her fingers a beat too long, and let it go. 

It was nice sitting here; sounds were filling up the little space, the rhythm of people moving around slow and steady, and she marvelled a bit at what a little look of relief could do, changing people’s faces so dramatically. Even grey started to look less dull. 

Chief was recalling how they had all met, back in the days, with Sameer’s vivid commentary, the entire account bizarre. Steve had been mostly quiet, sitting next to her, listening, fingers drawing circles on the glass absently.

“And there he is, the stupid American, stumbling into a fight his first night in London!”

Diana laughed, half turning to Steve, and saw him glancing at her, too, a hint of a smile still on his lips. His eyes were clear but soft at the edges, his entire posture relaxed. 

“Well, what can I say, I was new there, you all could’ve been nicer to me, really.”

“Don’t remember you complaining at the time.”

“And you turned out alright, didn’t you, son?”

“No thanks to you, that’s for sure.”

Somewhere around another one of Charlie’s bar fights Diana stopped listening, her eyes caught by the scene outside. Lamps were blinking into life, lighting the square up, illuminating the discarded tank in the corner, still and silent, almost forgotten.

They’d pulled two bodies out under the tank earlier, two waxy faces, young and crushed, limbs twisted at odd angles, their eyes large and blank. 

Diana had been listening to two Allied soldiers outlining the life in the trenches, but that image had stuck with her, the people behind the metal machine, following orders. The faces of victims of Ares’, faces of the ones she wasn’t able to save. 

What drew her back was Charlie standing up, nearly knocking over the chair. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile a bit at that, at them.

 

...

 

While piano was novel to her, music wasn’t. She used to sit beside her mother on the festive nights, wide-eyed, watching people spinning around in the town square, their bracelets or armours glimmering under the moonlight.

Veld was exactly and nothing like that, she decided, remembering Antiope and Menalippe laughing in the middle of the crowd, their long hair loose and swirling. That had been such a wonderful sight, the two of them, shoulder to shoulder, forehead to forehead. 

 

...

 

Dancing wasn’t supposed to be so quiet, so slow, so close. They swayed, their faces barely apart that she could see light dancing on his cheek, his lashes a dark shade of gold, casting shadow under his eyes. 

“You’re awfully close.”

“That’s what it’s… all about.”

His eyes jumped away, then turned back to hers. 

“I see.”

His fingers were gentle when he plucked the snow out of her hair, fleetingly, but very steady. 

She held his gaze.

 

...

 

Before she realised, most of those dancing around them had gone back inside. It was as if there were only Steve and her, in the snow, alone. The world felt oddly vast like this, surreally so; the warmth of the lights and the murmuring voices were mere backgrounds, her only concrete knowledge this embrace, her heart strangely light and full at the same time—filled with what, she wasn’t quite sure.

They stayed where they were for a long while, lingering, mostly silent, as quiet as the snowfall.

When Steve headed in to talk to the keeper of the inn, she stood on the threshold, casting one last look at the little square, knowing she would remember this day for a long time.

 

...

 

(Steve raced through the woods, the same woods they’d just gone by earlier in the day but infinitely more ominous under the quickly darkening winter sky, the rider ahead already lost in sight.

But he knew perfectly clear where they were heading. He was almost certain what they’d find, he knew, yet for some reason his heart was still at the top of his throat, ready to cling to any sign of… not as optimistic as hope, but _something._

He couldn’t smell anything but he realised it right away—he felt his throat constricting, he started to cough, a sharp inhale, eyes stinging and throat dry as sand, and he stopped, stumbling. 

He couldn’t follow her into the gas.

And that would be their story, wouldn’t it? She was bound to go to places he couldn’t follow—he felt like he had been chasing after her since they met, and that was fine, it had been fine, but now—

He called for her, again and again, before she emerged, spine upright, impervious to the poisonous mist but her face furious and so broken, and he thought, with a sinking heart, _she will never be able to forget this._ )

 

...

 

She was right. (So was he.)

She became, she was broken, here at the heart of this calamity, the village that no longer had a name. 

She remembered everything. 

The ticking of the watch had begun.

 


End file.
